


Junkie and Vaultie

by Xenomorphsuit



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Depraved Wasteland Weirdos, Drug Use, F/F, F/M, Gen, I May Up The Rating Later On, M/M, Multi, My First Fanfic, Other, Sexual Content, Sweet Wasteland Weirdos, everything really
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-04
Updated: 2016-03-04
Packaged: 2018-05-24 16:12:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6159280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xenomorphsuit/pseuds/Xenomorphsuit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Junkie meets Vaultie. Junkie and Vaultie find some trouble. Junkie and Vaultie make some trouble.<br/>Crow Fella meets The Boss. Crow fella meets The Fox. Crow Fella struggles with existential crisis and broods a bit.<br/>Dr. Robot has no friends. Dr. Robot makes friends. Dr. Robot likes his friends too much.</p><p>All other characters are in the works.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Junkie and Vaultie

**Author's Note:**

> Long story short: these couple chapters of this fic were written a few years ago after I was unable to complete New Vegas due to an ass-full of lagging. 'Fine then!' I thought, 'I'll make MY OWN New Vegas story!' And that's how this story came to fruition. I may make mistakes since I haven't actually finished the game but I had the Fallout:NV wiki open at all times while writing. There's no telling if I'll ever continue this story. Life changes, writing styles change...   
> I thought that letting my first fanfiction ever (that I actually still enjoy) go to waste would be a shame so I'm posting it here for people to gawk at. Please enjoy!

Chapter 1: Junkie and Vaultie

WAR NEVER CHANGES. The words were scrawled in neon pink across the building right in the middle of a busy street. Well, it was more like ‘WAR NEVER CHANG’ now due to the service robot that was diligently spraying off the paint with a pressure washer but the sentiment was not lost. The Junkie just watched as the paint struggled to stay bright as it washed down into the dusty gravel and dirt of the sidewalk. _You and me both, friend._ The Junkie was feeling extra sentimental today. He wasn’t sure if it was because he seemed to be painfully close to his destination or if it was because he was high as heaven and tripping balls. _After all, that robot probably isn’t real. I’m not sure how much is real around here._ The Junkie adjusted the goggles on his head and stared with heavy lids as the painted words changed to ‘LET IT ALL END’ to ‘FUCK THE NCR’ and finally to ‘FRESHEN UP WITH SUNSET SARSAPARILLA’. _A hallucination for every occasion, let’s take a chem vacation._ The little poem made The Junkie want to laugh and cry at the same time but then again most things did that to him these days. He was quite a sight to behold. His hair was a bright shade of blue that was never popular anywhere at any time and his cloak was a dirty, ratty, beige mess that looked as if he took it off a pre-war bomb victim’s smoldering corpse. His arms had swollen and bruised veins and were covered with months of biting needles. _I also smell really bad. Probably._ The Junkie didn’t like the self-depreciation part of this trip so it must mean that he’s getting close to sober.

The whole fucking world suddenly went quiet when he heard the heavy scrape of footsteps behind him. This shouldn’t have bothered him since the whole damn city was walking and scraping around him but this was uncomfortably different. Then he was in a dumpster. Not a single goddamn thing about that was real, apparently. _Not even the whiskey-tit sex bots? Shame._ The strange footsteps were very real though. He groped around the dark metal box and slowly pushed his head against the lid until he could peek out into the wastes. The rising sun made the ruins cast long shadows across the dumpster so hopefully his goggles weren’t causing a bright glare just in case footsteps turned out to be a big nasty or a big unfriendly (the two completely official categories for enemies in the wastelands).

When he spotted footsteps they had their back to him. The Junkie had never seen such a tall woman in his life. As far as he could tell she wasn’t carrying or wearing anything except for a standard vault suit with a big ‘3’ printed on it. This made him extremely suspicious of this possibly being a trap. _Either a lure for would-be thieves looking for easy pickings or a honey-pot of some sorts for good-doers._ Nobody walked unarmed out here. Not even a Vaultie. He was a horrible mess of a man but he still carried a dagger and never ever wandered into the wide open. Footsteps stumbled in a circle and slowly turned her head back and forth as if she had suddenly forgotten that she was outside. This continued until she was facing The Junkie straight on. Her eyes were open almost inhumanly wide and pupils dilated. _Is she… Tripping out?_ He suddenly felt a pang of worry for the girl and thought about possibly helping her out. This didn’t look like an act and the girl would be a magnet for rapists and crazies. He let the idea of just ducking back down float around a bit but eventually decided on the route of altruism and absolute stupidity. He threw the lid back and leaped over the edge.

Footsteps stared at The Junkie as he wheeled towards her at top speed but appeared to not actually be see him. Not even as he decked her with an outstretched arm and used the momentum to haul her with him into the cover of a ruined house. The Junkie let out a frustrated grunt as he tumbled to the ground with the Amazonian girl on top of him. He was unusually short but he thought that Vaulties were supposed to be short too due to living in little tunnels like molerats. _Molerats are just supersized versions of pre-war animals so maybe this is the same situation. An irradiated Mojave sweetheart._ Footsteps was still unresponsive so he took a moment to get a better look at her. She was incredibly pale to the point that it looked almost translucent in comparison to The Junkie’s swarthy complexion and her hair was a dark, knotty ginger mass. There were also little droplet stains of blood sprayed across the blue and yellow of her jumpsuit, he noticed. _She doesn’t even have shoes…_ He tried to gently lay her down but she had latched onto his cloak like a tick so he just sat and held her for a while. Footsteps was still staring at him but not seeing him. He cupped her face in his hand and started to give it some small ‘please come-to you’re scaring me’ slaps.

“Howdy Howdy. Mojave to Vaultie. Do we have contact? Blink twice if you can hear me. I’m not going to hurt you… Helllloooo?”

Footsteps didn’t blink twice. She actually didn’t blink at all. _Perhaps I’m having a withdrawal nightmare? This seems like one. Now I just have to wait until tiny shouting raiders and legionaries start bubbling out of the cracks of the Earth._ Without warning the vault dweller’s pupils flicked back and forth once… Then twice… Then the stare became less vacant as she started to focus on The Junkie’s messy, bright hair.

“Blue…” “Yes.” “It’s… Strange…” “Ah. Thanks?”

There was a long, awkward silence. What could he say to her? _New to this shitty irradiated desert? Let me show you about! Here’s my favourite irradiated tree! Look! A baby skeleton! Feel up for some nice thieving and raping? Maybe you’ll get strung up on a cross! Watta sight!_

“I… Have something for you to wear.”

“What’s wrong with what I’m wearing? This is issued to all vault-dwellers.”

“Which is exactly the issue. You don’t want to advertise that. It’s like screaming ‘Hey, everybody! I’m well-fed and my hands are soft!’ Wastelanders generally hate that.”

“I don’t understand.”

Footsteps’ eyes started to get all glassy again so The Junkie got to work at pulling a spare wasteland settler’s outfit out of his rucksack. He then carefully removed her grip from his cloak, put the clothes in her lap, and then scooted around until his back was to her. _I may be a disgusting tweaker but at least I’m a gentleman._

The rustling of rough cloth and zippers went on for a bit longer than it should have but eventually it all fell silent again so he turned his head to see how it turned out. It was… Way too small for her. The top showed her belly and the pants were so short that her ankles were showing. The Junkie chuckled a bit and turned his whole body towards her again.

“I dunno if we’ll find a trader that has outfits in-“

BANG.

Without a word he hit the floor of the rubble heap and pushed himself under a space in it. That gunshot was way too close for comfort. He grabbed the vaultie’s wrist and pulled her in towards him. The shelter of the fallen concrete and decrepit wood wouldn’t be enough to hide them both. For a moment he feared that they would have to make an unarmed sprint into the desert dunes but lady luck apparently took a shining to him today because as he wriggled all the way in he felt the cold press of something long, smooth, and metal against his hand. He grabbed on and pulled the mystery object out to take a look. His excitement soon died as soon as he saw that it was some kind of bizarre energy weapon. He had never shot anything like this in his whole life and he _really_ didn’t want to blow his hands off.

Loud talking and swearing could now be heard coming closer to the ruins. By the sounds of it it couldn’t be anything else but Fiends. The Junkie also could see that Footsteps had draped her discarded vault suit right out in the open like a fucking flag. There was no doubt that the crazies would come investigate so he swallowed his fear, looked deep into Footsteps’ eyes, and asked her the serious question.

“Listen… I know that we haven’t known each other very long but… Have you ever shot and killed a man with a high-powered energy weapon?”

She thought for a moment.

“Nope. No guns allowed in the vault.”

_Aw, shit…_ He closed his eyes tightly and attempted to refocus on the sounds of the approaching fiends. His blood turned to ice when he distinctly heard one shout ‘What the heck is that? Let’s go see!’

_This was the end. What a stupid, needless ending. It felt like the beginning of something new but it’s really the end._ He waited for the approaching footsteps and gunshots and the laughing and jeering. They would strip them both down to their underclothes and sell all of his personal items for drugs and booze. The bloatflies would feast on their corpses and leave a pile of sun-bleached bones. He waited and waited and started to grow strangely annoyed when they never came.

“Whoever wore this musta been a complete nerd. Check out this shit!”

_What the hell are they looking at?_ The Junkie whispered for Footsteps to stay down as he pushed them out of the hidey space. He couldn’t help but hold his breath as he eased himself from flat on his back to his elbows and squinted to the two fiends who were now by the dumpster he had previously been tripping in. One of them had taken off their morbid tribal helmet and was putting on a storm-chaser’s hat. _His_ storm-chaser’s hat that he must’ve dropped in his feverish sprint minutes ago. What was so special about the hat is that it had pretty tin pinbacks and glossy black raven feathers decorating it. _This is a devastating situation._ The Junkie had always thought that the decorative had been a good look for him. Could he really be a nerd?

He flopped onto his back and sighed. There was still a good chance that the fiends may come over and they were still unarmed with no chance in heck of escaping. Having a bruised ego wasn’t helping either. The Junkie turned to look at Footsteps and saw that she was trying to pull something out of the rubble. He had never even witnessed someone playing golf before but he recognized that it couldn’t be anything but.

“What are you going to do with that?” he whispered just as the Vaultie dislodged it and held it close to her chest.

“I have never shot a gun. I don’t know if I ever will. I’m also the worst player on the vault’s baseball team. But I am the best, and the only golfer in the history of Vault 3. I’ve been searching for an intact sand wedge ever since I started playing. Now I have found one and it’s so beautiful. I’ve been waiting for this day my whole life.”

“I’m so happy for you. I’ve also been waiting for this day my whole life. The day where I finally get to meet a wacked-out vault golfer who has no sense of self-preservation. Now some greasy raiders are making fun of my hat and probably getting nasty, greasy raider smell all over it. Not to mention that they’ll probably kill me and string my limbless torso up at their hideout but that doesn’t matter because you finally found it. You finally found the golf club. I can die happy.”

Footsteps just gave him a glass-eyed stare and continued examining the golf club with her hands. The Junkie then nearly pissed himself as she shot up into a sitting position. He whispered in panic for her to stay on the ground but she didn’t seem to hear them.

“Those bullies stole your hat. That’s not very nice. The Overseer doesn’t approve of bullies. I’ll take care of them, Little Fella.” She spoke in a soft, comforting voice.

Before the Junkie could reply with a firm ‘What the fuck are you saying?’ the vault dweller jumped up onto her feet and started walking towards the fiends. He could hear what she was saying to them but they looked absolutely dumbfounded that this person with a golf club and ill-fitting clothes had the balls to approach them. The Junkie suddenly had an idea. Unfortunately, this would involve putting all of his faith into the Vaultie and the Vaultie was kind of nuts.

He made an attempt to hold the energy weapon like he knew what he was doing and slowly rose to his feet.

“HEY ASSHOLES!”

The fiends turned to stare at him.

“FORE!”

The fiend to the right of the Vaultie started to unsling their shotgun and to The Junkie’s delight Footsteps swung up the golf club fluidly and broke the fiend’s nose with a loud snap. They screamed shrilly and dropped to the ground. The fiend wearing his hat didn’t even have a moment to react as Footsteps caught them flat in the middle of the forehead with her downswing. The fiend’s eyes rolled back in their head and they fell over almost comically. The vault dweller then froze in place with her back to The Junkie and golf club hanging loosely in her grip.

“Oh, baby! Homerun! Touchdown! Hole-in-one! There we go!” The Junkie cheered and waved the weapon over his head.

The one fiend had stopped screaming and was now was whimpering and whining in a shivering ball. There was blood all over their face and hands. The Junkie was thankful that they were covering what was left of their nose because he could guarantee that it was probably not a pretty sight.

“That’s what you get when you harshly critique a man’s style, son.”

He tenderly flipped the non-moving and non-screaming fiend onto their back with his foot. They appeared to be breathing alright but had a huge goose egg developing on their forehead. He wasted no time in stripping the hat from their head and then digging through their pockets for anything of value. There was a couple chems that they could sell (Buffout and Jet weren’t his type of drugs), a hatchet that probably wasn’t worth a cap but he could give to the girl for defense, and a harmonica. He examined the beat-up little thing for a moment but ultimately decided to pocket it. He could see some long nights and days ahead.

The Junkie dusted himself off and realized that Footsteps was giving him the same owly stare from earlier. When he reached out a put a hand on her upper arm she snapped back into focus with a startled “Oh.”

“You did good, kid. You’ve bought my supper for this week,” he grinned as he grabbed her hand and slapped the hatchet handle into her palm. “Now let’s see what this other fella has for us.”

The fiend tried to roll away as he started to pat them down but was easily stopped by leaning his weight into them a bit. Surprisingly, they had no chems or close-range weaponry on them but had a weighty bag tied to their waist. The Junkie’s heart started to quicken in his chest as he untied the bit of burlap and looked inside. It was _caps and caps and caps at least 300 caps oh lordy_. He quickly tied the bag shut and just sat on his haunches, taking deep gulping breaths. The Vaultie gave him an inquisitive look and he just shook his head.

“We are both in deep trouble but also lucky as all hell. We need to go now and quickly.”

He stood up to full height and roughly pulled the storm-chaser hat over his head. The bag of caps was thrown into his rucksack and the caravan shotgun was slung over his shoulder but he still felt as if he forgot something.

“Ah! Figure we might as well get acquainted. I’m, uh…, Markus.” He turned toward the moaning fiend again and started fiddling with something around their feet.

“Hyacinth… Is Markus really your name because you seemed to hesi-“

“No... No… What’s your nickname? I already know a Hyacinth in Utah.”

This was a likely a lie to either find out more about Hyacinth or because he simply wouldn’t be able to remember her real name.

“I suppose that I have a nickname. It’s Moonie. I don’t really like it-“

“Why Moonie? Wait… Is it because of,” He turned his head towards her and made a shocked, moon-eyed expression whilst gesturing towards his face.

Moonie’s face flushed and she looked away shyly. “Doctor Raveena said that it’s a normal res-“

Markus hopped onto his feet and thrust a pair of beat-up boots towards her.

“For you, beautiful and illustrious Moonie. May our partnership be as long and hardy as your thick, ginger locks. Now throw these on so that we can get the fuck out of here.”

Moonie stuck the golf club in her belt like a sword and the hatchet in her pocket in the best way that she hoped would prevent it from accidentally slicing her. She walked over to the dumpster so that she could lean against it while putting the shoes on her filthy feet. She double-checked that the laces were nice and tight before stomping them around for a test run. Satisfied, she returned to Markus who was leaning back on his heels with crossed arms and an anxious expression.

“Ready? Excellent! Let’s get going!” He started walking South briskly.

“W-wait! Where are we headed?” Moonie’s long legs kept her up with his pace easily.

Markus kept walking but he turned to flash her a wide and toothy smile. “New Vegas bound, baby. I have other places to be and other people to see but I have no business just walking straight by with this much cash in my pocket. Would be a sin, no, a _crime_.”

He started to chuckle but then broke in a full, hearty laugh that shook the entirety his messy frame. Moonie couldn’t help but laugh alongside him. The two of them continued to laugh into the hot, sandy winds of the Mojave and all the way until they were out of sight of the ruins, the raiders, and the dingy dumpster.

End Chapter 1


	2. Ante Bellum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hol up. We dem (Legion) boyz.

_Corvus_

He’d wished that he had been surprised when Caesar had requested him to make the long trek from the great capital Flagstaff to the Colderado River but he wasn’t. The last near decade or so had been like a bitter, harsh length of desert. He worked on his physical health until he would go to bed feeling like someone had set fire to every inch of muscle in his body and studied every book and scrap of paper that he could get his hands on. Yet, he still always felt that something was missing. He thought of the few major amputees that he had met in his life. They usually said that after the limb was gone they could still feel it there. That it would itch, or it would burn, or that the muscles would forever stay clenched. This was much how he was feeling right now. It was frustrating that he could have control over nearly every aspect of himself but this. He had been an admirable recruit and an even better scout. He continued to climb ranks until he was considered a more than suitable decanus and became the second-in-command to a centurion. He firmly believed in _sine labore nihil,_ so hard labour he did. Now he was coming out to see Caesar because he wanted his participation in the next battle for Hoover Dam. His personal thought was that they’d be better off destroying the NCR from the inside but it was not Caesar’s way. He was fortunate to be skilled in both espionage and battle. In both situations there would be a vast pile of corpses in his wake. _Corvus Cornix. A carrion crow. That is what they call me._ He was unsure if the name grew with his reputation or if he just simply grew into the name. Either way, he hoped that this change of scenery would remove this undefeatable phantom limb for good. A scout running towards him snapped him out of his thoughts.

“ _Ave_ , Corvus. We have reached the encampment and I have notified them of your arrival. I was told that Lord Caesar is ready to see you as soon as you arrive.”

Corvus simply nodded. “ _Vale._ ”

“ _Vale._ Hail to Caesar.”

A strange, unfamiliar feeling started to grip him around the throat. He never thought that he would see Caesar in person. His name echoed everywhere in encampments and areas conquered by the Legion but he seemed like more of a God rather than a mortal man that you could actually speak to. He had to physically pull himself out of the deep waters of his mind that swirled with terrifying boyhood memories and undeserved feelings of inadequacy. He slowly and carefully pulled himself back together into a state of calm and confidence. _The worst thing that could happen is that he could crucify me or cover me in pitch and light me on fire. I fear no man, I fear no death. Caesar is a reasonable and respectable man. He is asking for my assistance and I am honoured to be among his chosen._

Corvus and his small team arrived at the camp sooner than he hoped. It was simultaneously less and more spectacular than he could’ve imagined. They traveled swiftly around the perimeter of the barricade and stood a moment outside of the entrance. A trio of crosses with grinning skeletons lashed to them stood at attention as a ‘welcome’ to Legionaries and a ‘this will be you’ to any profligates that somehow made it to this side of the river. He was being greeted by a guard but managed no more than a stoic nod. They traveled up the hill and through the outer gate. He memorized the faces of passing slaves and recruits for later use. They passed several hounds (which Corvus was not partial to, he didn’t trust the beasts) and a couple young boys training to be Legionaries. Finally, they arrived at the entrance of Caesar’s tent. He dismissed his recruits to go eat and rest before pushing the heavy fabric aside. He concentrated on keeping his walking pace between ‘honourable’ but ‘not too eager’ and tried his best not to slow when he laid his eyes on Caesar on his throne. He stopped a couple feet away from the dictator and kneeled down with his head bowed.

“ _Ave._ Mighty Caesar, Son of Mars. It was my second greatest honour to travel here to meet with you. My greatest honor is to be kneeling before you now.”

_Oh Mars, that was probably the worst greeting that Caesar has ever received. Now he’s either going to send me back east or kill me for being such a tacky ass. I hope that he just kills me and retains at least a sliver of my honour._

Yet, Caesar seemed pleased. “Rise, Corvus. I have more important things for you to do rather than kneel for me. I’ve heard a lot about your work in Arizona and I’m pleased to find that you are a man who seems to be capable of wasting some of the more difficult profligate tribes that have been fucking things up out east recently.”

Corvus stood up gracefully and smiled on the inside with an almost child-like joy.

Caesar gestured to the man his right. “As you know, I’ve chosen you to be part of the more… Espionage-oriented sector of the Colorado River location. Vulpes Inculta is my literal right-hand man and the leader of the Frumantarii. Get to know him as you’ll probably be spending a lot of time together.”

One: He did not know this. Two: He had completely ignored the fact that there were about three other people and three mutts in this room.

Corvus glanced at the intense looking young man. His watery blue eyes and stone-cold expression did not change in the slight as they momentarily locked eyes. Corvus made a point of giving the same information with his own expression.

Caesar gestured to his left. “Lucius is the head of Praetorian guard. He has been loyal to his Legion for a good 13 years.”

The older man’s expression was slightly warmer than Vulpes but not by much. Corvus expected this from high ranking men.

Caesar unexpectantly rose to his feet. “You can get to know him if you like but I’m going to go rest for a while,” he paused, “Actually, maybe you should do the same. You and Vulpes can discuss Intel and all that good shit on your way out.”

Corvus gave a short bow of his head as Caesar disappeared to the room behind the throne. Vulpes walked towards and past Corvus and gestured for him to follow.

“Your men will be divided to different parts of the camp where extra manpower is required, you will not be needed to command them any longer with your new placement.”

He opened the tent flap for Corvus and let him through.

“I’ll show you where you can rest for the night. I may relocate you in the near future for convenience,” Vulpes paused for a moment, “Have you eaten yet?”

“No, but I have plenty remaining from my journey to sate me for tonight.”

“Good. I’ll see to that you’re shown around the camp tomorrow morning. Do not wear your Decanus helmet, starting tomorrow you are Frumentarii and are more than a mere command of ten. The Frumentarii are carefully hand-picked for the glory of Caesar and our Legion. ‘ _Meliora Cogito’_ ,” Vulpes came to a sudden stop in the middle of the stairs and stared at Corvux, “Do you know what this means and do you understand it?”

“’I strive for the best’. I think that you’ll find that I have a very similar _modus operandi_.”

Corvus could’ve sworn that Vulpes cracked a smile as he continued his way down. He wasn’t sure what he meant with that so he added: “I will be a great asset to your Frumentarii. _Meum pactum dictum_ , Vulpes Inculta.”

Vulpes didn’t say anything else until they were down by the tents. He crossed his arms and watched some slaves as they were hauling the remains of a spit-roasted Brahmin towards a storage area.

“Knowing Latin will not help you on your missions but I can’t deny that it’s amusing,” Vulpes said this without sarcasm, to Corvus’ relief, “I would not be surprised if you do not remember but we have briefly met once before in Flagstaff. We were just boys but I distinctively remember you and your brother. It’s unfortunate what happened. I have never seen two human beings so close.”

Corvus did not appreciate where this conversation was heading.

“That was a very long time ago. I would prefer not to discuss this.”

Vulpes tilted his head in a predatory stare. Corvus decided to change the subject quickly and divert Vulpes’ blatant information gathering.

“One last question before I sleep… Why ‘Inculta’?”

“If you cross me you will understand. So it would be in your best interests if you didn’t.”

_So that is that. I’ve already pissed off my commander and he isn’t even technically my commander yet._

Or that’s what he thought as Vulpes took a few short steps toward him. The younger man was shorter but his intensity made him seem like he could consume the mighty Caesar himself. Corvus almost flinched in surprise as Vulpes tenderly laid a hand on his upper arm.

“We can continue our conversation at sunrise. _Vale_ , Corvus.”

He couldn’t help but stare in silence as the Frumentarius walked away to approach a slave, possibly to instruct them to give Corvus a tour around camp in the morning.

Corvus thought about exploring the camp by himself right now or doing some evening exercises but the want of sleep won above all other options. He stripped off his armor and flopped down pathetically onto the bedroll. He fell asleep wondering why Caesar talked like a profligate and if Vulpes was messing with his head or simply just a bit awkward.

End Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 2 Latin Glossary and Other Notes  
> Ante Bellum= before the war   
> Sine labore nihil= without labour nothing (nothing without hard work)  
> Ave= Greetings, Good morning, Hello  
> Vale= Goodbye, Good night  
> Vulpes= Fox  
> Inculta= rough or uncivilized  
> Meliora Cogito= I strive for the best (duh)  
> Modus operandi= work method  
> Meum pactum dictum= My word is bond (I stand by my word, I promise you)  
> And Flagstaff is in Northern Arizona (as I explained it is the Legion capital city. The environment is far greener there than New Vegas). Arizona borders their current location (Nevada) in the west and Utah in the north. Flagstaff is slightly farther south than New Vegas.


End file.
